


Vaermina's Torpor

by the_shy_shrimp



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Creepy Erandur, Don't drink random potions you find in abandoned towers, Drabble, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV First Person, because sometimes that friend ends up being a retired cultist, creative use of tags, no matter how much your new friend wants you to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_shy_shrimp/pseuds/the_shy_shrimp
Summary: The Dragonborn has some regrets about drinking a mysterious potion in an abandoned tower with a Dunmer he's only just met.Unfortunately, it's a little late to turn back now.
Kudos: 5





	Vaermina's Torpor

**Author's Note:**

> Another old work that's been sitting in the done folder for many years, and just now being published.

Why did I ever listen to this Dunmer? It was a mistake to trust him, I’m certain. He even admitted that he used to be a devotee of Vaermina, before he became a priest of Mara. I was so stupid! All the signs were there, I just didn’t piece them together.

Now I lie here, having drunk a potion I know almost nothing about, fighting the unconsciousness creeping and pulling at the edges of my mind. At least he caught me before my head hit the stone floor; the headache brought on by the potion is enough without one caused by impact with the ground.

“Be calm, my son.”

This he says as he adjusts my shoulders so that my head sits in his lap. At least it is softer than the stone. 

“If you fight against it this will only be more unpleasant for you, I fear.”

How convenient. The only way to end the agony of this daedric prince dragging me under is to relinquish control and allow it to happen. Not on my watch.

“Wait here,” he says as he rises and rests my head atop the folded robes of one of the slain servants of Vaermina. “I’m going to see if I can soak up some of the miasma. If I can capture it and get you to inhale it, it might help the potion along a bit.”

Doesn’t he know that is the last thing I want? It is torture, to lose control like this! I thought it would simply be as though I was seeing a vision, but this is far from it. It is like I have had the command of my own body ripped from me, and the command of my mind slipping away just as easily.

As soon as I knew we were dealing with the daedra here, I should have backed out. I pity the people of Dawnstar, suffering with their constant nightmares, but I feel now as if I am suffering tenfold.

“Your spirit is strong, Dragonborn. Those of a lesser make would have succumbed already to the Torpor’s effects, but you must not fight it if we are to succeed in destroying the Skull of Corruption.”

Erandur has returned, bearing a rag dripping with the cold, liquid miasma. He kneels beside me and gives an apologetic look before settling the cloth over the lower half of my face.

It is then, as each inhalation brings me closer to unconsciousness, that I remember why I am doing this. I think of Alesan, the orphan boy who feeds the miners. I remember Frida, the old alchemist who is friendly to all. There is also Karita, the bard who sings so well at the inn. Not to mention Rustleif, and his wife Seren, along with their unborn child.

“Relax, my son. It will be over soon.”

* * *

I awaken stumbling down the corridor, on the other side of the magical barrier I am to disable. It takes far longer than it should for me to find the soul gem powering the barrier, and once I have removed it I find that my legs no longer possess the strength to keep me upright.

“Well done, my son,” he says as he catches me again.

He settles me on the floor, my head supported again by the folded cloth from before. I am chilled, and begin to shiver. I feel horrendous.

“Do you think you are going to be sick?”

It takes all of my strength to nod, but somehow my body does as it is supposed to, unlike before. Erandur turns me on my side, bending my knees at an angle and laying my arms in front of me. He tears one of the tattered banners from the wall, and drapes it over me.

“There, that should help a bit.”

It does, despite the thinness of the worn fabric. But unfortunately, it does not help with the nausea, not one bit. Suddenly I am attempting to prop myself up on my elbows, and everything that was once in my stomach is brought up. There wasn’t much to begin with, only a bit of bread from that morning. The priest is kind enough to hold my hair out of the way.

“Easy, easy, my son.”

I wish he would not call me that. I am no follower of Mara, not any more than he is a priest of Talos. But I say nothing as he lays my head back upon the folded violet robes.

“I’m so sorry the potion’s had this kind of effect on you, If I had known that it would do this, I wouldn’t have forced you into it. Stay here and rest a while, I’m sure I can handle whatever’s ahead until you’ve recovered…”

With that he leaves me, and I can easily hear the distant sounds of a fight not long after. But it sounds as if from underwater, for I am already being pulled back toward sleep’s embrace.


End file.
